She was looking at me.
I couldn’t place the look. It was sadness and,… desperation. Her green eyes seemed lost.
I stepped closer without realising, my instinct taking over. I didn’t breathe again until I felt her hand on my chest. She was trembling.
She drew back and opened the phone booth door, stepping inside and turning, her hands pressing white against the glass. I didn’t understand. Not until I saw the photograph crushed in her palm.
The picture showed a booth identical to this, steamed from within – a wet hand print on the glass.
She lifted her skirt.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Joe deSousa via Unsplash.
Another decidedly NSFW story today. No, I don’t know where the image came from. But if you want to throw me another title that piques an erotic image in your head, go ahead: pop the word in the comments section or tweet it to me @ using the hashtag #OWOS.
I’m nearly at 100 stories – let’s boost this into 200. Explore your favourite genre using the tabs to the left and share your favourite stories far and wide! I can’t do it without you!
Say hello, pop comments and like the OWOS Facebook page. I’ll see you tomorrow for “Inform”!
Shards of crystal shook with each thundering crack of feet on the marble floor below: a hundred shoes raining to the ground as hands met, palm on palm. The chandelier swayed. Wax dripped.
At each turn of the music a sighing hiss filled the air. Silk skirts brushed the thighs of men, teasing them as their wives looked on.
Jenny watched the dance from the corridor, the golds and blues of the scene reflected in the young maid’s gaze. Behind her, others carried chamberpots from the room.
“Remember, girl,” called the housekeeper. “Their piss smells just as sweet as ours.”
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Peter Oswald via Unsplash.
Thanks to aspiring novelist and blogger extraordinaire Roderick Wills for suggesting today’s story title! You can follow him @ or on his website at https://roderickwills.com/.
Suggest your own title and I’ll write the first image that springs to mind – just pop a single word in the comments below or Tweet it to me @.
White droplets patted against damp straw, soaking through and pooling against frozen concrete beneath. Billowing steam span through the air and glimmered in the breaking dawn.
Two dozen cows mooed and lowed as their teeth ground in a grumbling, champing chorus.
Still the milk spilled from the machines, streams gathering together amid the red mud that caked each beast’s hooves.
Four dozen eyes saw the black truck arrive. Four dozen eyes saw the man wash his boots with disinfectant.
White streams became red as the man handed papers to the farmer. The cow shed door closed for the last time.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image via Freestocks.org
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I’m nearly at 100 stories – let’s boost this into 200. Explore your favourite genre using the tabs to the left and share your favourite stories far and wide! I can’t do it without you 🙂
Marbled streams of fire shifted and wound through hissing clouds of acrid smoke. Fissures broke open like wounds, finding each other and melting into flickering rivers before swollen dams of black rock rolled across and cut them from the night sky.
A maelstrom swirled high above, peppering the shifting rock with ashen pumice as forks of lightning shruck at the ground.
The old man looked on, fingers tightening in his palms. Tears fell at the beauty of it. His heart broke as children screamed.
One last toll of the church bell broke the air.
Fire leapt. The screams stopped.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Yosh Ginsu via Unsplash.
Pompeii sprang to mind when I read “Intense”. There was a man who witnessed it and survived – Plinny the Younger. It’s hard to imagine how terrible it was for him to see.
Today’s story title was donated by fellow blogger and author Angelica Kidd, who is just beginning her submission for NanoWrimo as of yesterday! Follow her progress at https://angelicakidd.wordpress.com/.
See you tomorrow for “Enslavement”.
The tyres weren’t going to take it. James could already feel the grip yielding against the tarmac. He could see them in his mind – the rubber twisting and giving way.
“Don’t be afraid to brake.”
He whispered the phrase over and over, patting the break line as he stared down the opening straight. The first turn was taunting him: daring him. Take it right and the race was his.
James gripped the wheel as the crowd hushed. The timer on the board reset.
He patted the plywood of the soapbox racer and his Dad got ready to push,….
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Pascal Richier via Unsplash.
Well I hope you all had a lovely Halloween!
Today’s story title was donated by the wonderful K.M. Joshi – graphic designer and musician. You can find him and follow him (you stalkers, you!) over on Twitter @. Suggest your own one word title by popping a comment below or tweeting me @ and the next story could be yours!
Oh, and don’t forget to hit that “follow” button, below and to the right, for daily stories!
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Blinding green light pulsed through heavy black air, fixing faces like photographs – caught in their euphoria. Jermain Wallace watched arms and mouths melt together in sexual abandon – tiny slivers of lust matched to music.
The bass trembled in his chest and rode through the floor: the pill dissolved on his tongue. The faces rippled to blackness and he rose his hands high to worship.
The empty Ibiza desert echoed around him as he opened his eyes.
His shirt was blood-stained. The blood was not his.
Jermain didn’t care.
The bass was all he needed. The bass was God.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Melissa Askew via Unsplash.
An interesting image to form a story from this – quite wonderful that I didn’t know precisely where it was going to end up!
Great thanks to supernatural romance author extraordinaire Rebecca Pollard for donating the word. You can find her on twitter @. Say I sent you 🙂
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Suggest your own words by tweeting me @ or popping a note in the comments of this post. See you tomorrow for “Corner”!
Eddie’s mouth was hanging open. He wasn’t entirely sure what had happened.
Around him people were staring, forks held comically close to mouths, awkward coughs and murmurs circling the room like sharks. Behind him a door slammed closed.
“Can I get you a towel, sir?”
The Maître D remained professionally aloof but Eddie could see sympathy in his eyes.
“I,…. think I’ll have the bill, please.”
Eddie picked up the two halves of paper, her telephone number shredded. They’d been talking about their blind date. She’d asked what he enjoyed.
Somehow “Chilling to Netflix” was the wrong answer.
(c) Tim Austin 2016. Image by Todd Deimer via Unsplash.
You too can suggest a One Word title – just pop your word in the comments or tweet it to me @ using the hashtag #onewordonestory
Follow the site for more stories! Tomorrow: “Euphoria”. See you then 🙂